


Sweet Memories

by lecrivaineanonyme



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, No seriously your teeth will rot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecrivaineanonyme/pseuds/lecrivaineanonyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I swear, if it’s another tie patterned with Saint-Just’s face, I WILL burn it.” Enjolras glared at his boyfriend, an expression Grantaire should not have found as attractive as he did. </p><p>“It’s clearly not, but I don’t think you appreciate how hard it is to come by fabric with the faces of dead French revolutionaries on it,” Grantaire grumbled. </p><p>In which Grantaire is observant, Enjolras is sentimental, and Courfeyrac is denied sweets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynchy8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/gifts).



> Six months ago, I went antiquing with friends and was inspired to doodle out a storyline involving Enjolras, Grantaire, and an antique shop. This is the result. If the characters are a little OOC, I do apologize - my fiction writing skills are rusty.
> 
> I do not own any of these characters. All mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> This tooth-rotting fluff was beta-ed by and dedicated to the incredibly wonderful Lynchy8.

It was a candy dish; a cherry red candy dish of glass, with scalloped edges. It was pretty enough, but entirely unremarkable - except for the fact that Enjolras was staring at it. Enjolras, who considered decorative clutter to be superfluous; Enjolras, who routinely used flower vases as pencil holders long after the flowers inside them had died, to the everlasting horror of Jehan; Enjolras, whose living room looked like a spread from a minimalist magazine.

Yet, it was unmistakable the way his long fingers lingered on the rim of the dish, a soft smile playing on his lips. There was something special about this dish; something Grantaire couldn’t see.

After a few minutes, Enjolras sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and, after a final glance, walked away.  
As soon as Enjolras was safely ensconced in the towering rows of bookshelves, Grantaire went over to the dish, hoping to find out why Enjolras was so entranced with it. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, carefully studying the decorative patterns along the side. It appeared to be an absolutely ordinary candy dish.

“Looking for a present for your girlfriend?” a kindly voice asked. Grantaire started and turned around to find the antique dealer standing behind him, a knowing look on her face.

“N-n-n-no,” he stammered. He didn’t know why he felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar (or, in this case, the candy jar), but that didn’t stop his hands from shaking. He thrust the dish out at the dealer, who took it from him, a quizzical look on her face. “Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about this dish?”

The dealer gently turned it in her hands, inspecting it from every angle.

“There’s not much to say,” she answered. “It’s certainly not a unique piece, one of many produced during the 1930s. It’s in great condition. I think we got this item from an estate sale.”

“So, this isn’t a replica of the candy dish where Robespierre kept his orange tarts or Rousseau kept his chocolates?”

The dealer snorted, her eyes crinkling.

“Afraid not, dear. This is a generic, Depression-era candy dish. Beautiful, but not revolutionary.”

“I see.” Grantaire stole a glance at Enjolras, who was in the middle of an enthusiastic conversation with Combeferre and Feuilly, jabbing eagerly at the leather-bound book in his hands. He chuckled as Feuilly pulled another book off the shelf and began waving it in Enjolras’ face. “How much are you asking for it?” he inquired, turning back to the dealer.

“Around eighty dollars. It may not be unique, but it’s in excellent condition.”

Grantaire bit his lip. Work had been slow lately, and he really had no business buying a fancy dish for _candy_ of all things, not when there were pencils, charcoal, and paint to buy for commissions as well as groceries to buy and bills to pay. He hadn’t forgotten the half-hour lecture on self-care his irate boyfriend had given him the last time he spent his grocery money on Copic markers while he tried to live off leftovers from the kindly Corinth waitresses for a month. Not that he didn’t remember everything Enjolras said anyway, but the fact that Enjolras had spent thirty minutes shrieking about taking better care of himself “because I love you, you ass!” had been enough of a shock to brand the memory permanently into his brain.

He looked over at Enjolras again, now thumbing through his leather-bound book with reverence. Clearly the dish meant _something_ to Enjolras; Grantaire hadn’t seen him smile like that in some time. Work had been stressful for him and Grantaire was the first to admit that he hadn’t been the most understanding. They’d been fighting more than usual and while Grantaire didn’t think that buying a gift would solve their problems, it might be a nice gesture to show that he, you know, cared.

The dealer had followed his gaze. “Is he worth that much to you, dear?” she asked.

“Infinitely more,” Grantaire replied, smiling as Enjolras pushed an errant curl behind his ear. “But he’d kill me if I spent grocery money on a candy dish.”

The dealer hummed thoughtfully. “You know,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially, “we don’t normally put items on layaway, but you and your partner are the only ones who’ve shown any interest in this in six months. What would you think about putting it on a payment plan?”

Grantaire turned to look at her, eyes wide. “Really? You’d do that?”

She smiled, eyes twinkling. “Shall we set up a schedule?”

Grantaire grinned.

* * *

 

“I’m so glad you’re here, work was absolutely dreadful.” Enjolras let the door swing shut with a click as he toed off his shoes and hung up his jacket. “I have no idea what you’re cooking, but it smells divine.”

Grantaire laughed, stirring the pasta sauce. “Hello to you, too, honeybunch.”

“I’d yell at you for bringing up that horrid nickname, but I’m too tired.”

“You know that I loooove you,” Grantaire sing-songed, grinning when the blond rolled his eyes.

Enjolras came up and stood behind Grantaire, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder, nosing at the curls on the nape of the brunet’s neck.  
Grantaire let out a sigh of contentment, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch as Enjolras began pressing kisses on his neck.

“Aren’t you going to tell me about work?” Grantaire asked lazily, as Enjolras started kissing down his jawline.

“Mmm,” Enjolras mumbled, “I’d rather just stand here and kiss you instead, if that’s okay with you.” Enjolras illustrated his point by pressing another kiss to his boyfriend’s neck.

“Normally, I have no objections to you kissing me, but the sauce is starting to smoke, and I’d rather not burn down your apartment.”

Enjolras pulled back with a sigh. “You do have a point, I suppose.”

“The fact that I have a point is precisely why you keep me around,” Grantaire retorted.

Enjolras smirked. “I keep you around for a few other reasons as well, you know,” he said coyly, nipping Grantaire’s ear before heading towards the living room.  
Grantaire grinned wickedly. “Why, Enjolras, are you being _saucy_ with me?” He grinned gleefully as Enjolras groaned loudly.

“Oh my God, Grantaire, that was an awful joke and you know it. That’s almost as bad as the pun you made about the – hey, what’s this?” Enjolras lifted up a neat package sitting on the coffee table. Grantaire feigned nonchalance, apparently engrossed in his cooking.

“Just a little something I picked up for you,” he replied with a smile.

“I swear, if it’s another tie patterned with Saint-Just’s face, I WILL burn it.” Enjolras glared at his boyfriend, an expression Grantaire should not have found as attractive as he did.

“It’s clearly not, but I don’t think you appreciate how hard it is to come by fabric with the faces of dead French revolutionaries on it,” Grantaire grumbled.

“I mean, wearing that tie could get me attacked in certain parts of the country…”

“JUST OPEN THE DAMN BOX, ENJOLRAS!” Grantaire was tempted to flick sauce at his boyfriend in exasperation, because, really, had the guy never heard of not looking gift horses in the mouth?

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but dutifully opened the box. His eyes grew wide when he saw the candy dish nestled in a bed of tissue paper. He stared at it for several minutes, his face betraying no emotion whatsoever, to the point that Grantaire began to suspect he had seriously miscalculated. “Enjolras…are you all right?” he asked tentatively.

“You bought this for me.” Enjolras’s voice was soft, disbelieving.

Grantaire coughed, suddenly awkward.

“Yeah, I did,” he replied, as casually as he could. “You seemed to like it at the antique store. And you normally don’t like stuff like that, so I thought it might be something special…” His voice trailed off as Enjolras’s eyes bored into his own. Shaking his head, he hurried on.

“If you don’t like it, I can take it back, no problem, it’s totally cool, I’ll just…” He stuttered to a halt under the weight of his boyfriend’s stare.

“Grantaire, I absolutely love it,” Enjolras said firmly. “I’m just...surprised that you noticed, that’s all.” He returned his gaze to the dish in his hands.

“I notice everything you do, Enjolras,” Grantaire muttered, staring at his toes. “It’s part of my pathetically-in-love-with-somebody-way-out-of-my-league syndrome.”  
Enjolras put the box back down on the coffee table and took Grantaire into his arms. “You aren’t pathetic,” he murmured into the man’s shoulder, “you’re observant. And I am most certainly not out of your league. I love your gift, and I love you.” He kissed Grantaire’s forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

Grantaire smiled. “Okay.”

* * *

 

Later that night, they spent a half hour debating where to put the dish. They settled on leaving it on the coffee table.

“My grandmother had a candy dish just like this,” Enjolras said fondly as they sat cuddling on the sofa. “She kept it in the sitting room, on a fancy end table, next to her and Grandpa’s wedding portrait. It was always filled with caramels and saltwater taffy.” His fingers gently sifted through Grantaire’s curls. “It had been gift from her father to her mother on their first wedding anniversary. It was during the Depression, but he managed to save enough to buy it for her.”

“That’s sweet,” Grantaire replied. “Did she let you eat the candy?”

“Mom would only let us have one piece each visit,” Enjolras answered. “But Grandma would sneak us extras when Mom wasn’t looking.” The blond smiled gently, lost in the happy memory.

“What happened to it?” Grantaire asked, regretting it the moment he felt his boyfriend stiffen.

“My uncle sold it,” Enjolras replied brusquely. “After Grandma died, he sold just about everything, claiming that looking at her things was just too painful.” He clenched his fists, but immediately loosened them when he realized he had unwittingly pulled Grantaire’s hair. “Bastard never even asked my mother and my aunt what they wanted to do with Grandma’s things.”

Grantaire shifted, tugging Enjolras so that his head was resting on Grantaire’s shoulder. “You’ve got it back now,” he murmured soothingly. “And we can fill it with caramels and saltwater taffies, and let our friends eat as much as they want.”

Enjolras snuggled into Grantaire’s arms. “Except Courfeyrac.”

“Except Courfeyrac,” Grantaire agreed.

Enjolras leaned up to press a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “I don’t think I said thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you, Grantaire. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, honeybunch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first fic, so feedback is definitely welcome.


End file.
